


Sins of the Son

by Fruitloop (Fruityloops)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Forced Orgasm, Hurt Tony Stark, Iron Man Suit Kink, Other, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:45:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fruityloops/pseuds/Fruitloop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill from Avengerkink: Tony is working late in his lab when one of the suits suddenly starts moving on its own and attacks him. The suit holds him down, rips his clothes off and begins fingering him, not slowing down or pausing even though Tony struggles and begs for it to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sins of the Son

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't not fill this. The full prompt is in the end notes, I think I got everything. Suitporn is my favourite *_*
> 
> This is set to take place shortly after Avengers, which is why Bruce is there, since I figured he went home with Tony to do science for some unspecified amount of time.

 

"Show me the progress."

Bright symbols appear before Tony's eyes on the holographic screen, the language he has created for Jarvis and himself, illuminating his face in the darkened lab as the AI repeats the numbers he's been ordered to. 

“Four-five-six ….... two-five-seven …....... five-”

He rubs his eyes, ignoring it when Jarvis passively aggressively suggest he go to bed by purposely stalling between each string of numbers.

It won't work. They both know that. Just as they both know Tony can sleep tomorrow.

Pepper isn't home anyways, gone to some stupid convention he couldn’t be bothered to attend to himself. It's just him and Bruce, who's excused himself with a yawn and walked through the door and up the stairs several hours ago – and Jarvis.

But Jarvis is always there, so Tony figures it doesn’t really count.

His left eye twitches when something, probably important, crashes to the floor behind him, followed up by a long series of confused whirring and clicking sounds.

 _And Dummy_ , he thinks tiredly, who may or may not be _anywhere_ really. Who knows.

He ignores the robot's pathetic flailing and focuses on the fact that Jarvis isn't talking to him. Which is absolutely _not_ what he asked for.

"Did I tell you to stop?"

He narrows his eyes and looks up when he's ignored.

No answer, not even a dismissive one. Which is strange, because Jarvis never ignores him – something Tony appreciates a lot, the reason why he started building things that could listen and reply in the first place.

"I'm pretty sure I asked you to keep the numbers coming." He tries again, but the AI is silent.

"Jarvis?"

 _Some bug in the system?_ He moves a hand over the display in front of him, biting the inside of his cheek in annoyance. He's cleared out various things in Jarvis's code a few days ago, programmed new start-up systems and drivers, and everything should be working just-

"Wha-!"

He's abruptly pulled out of his train of thought when something heavy settles on his shoulder.

The glowing eyes of Mark IV are staring back at Tony when he turns, and he backpedals out of the chair and falls flat on his ass with a startled yelp.

"What the fuck?"

There's no one inside of it, he knows that, they're all coded to him alone, and Pepper – just in case. It has to be a malfunction. Jarvis never takes control of the suits unless necessary, and he certainly doesn’t make them move just to freak Tony out.

And fuck it if he isn't freaked out just a little bit a the moment.

He picks himself up from the ground, keeping his eyes on the suit as he makes sure to stay out of its range. 

"Code nine-one-nine: **Lock-down**."

His voice is shaking, only ever so slightly, but it's hard keeping your cool when you're being down-stared by the expressionless faceplate of the Iron Man armor.

Nothing happens. 

It doesn’t lock down. It just stands there in the room, suddenly seeming very massive compared to himself. And how the _hell_ did he not notice it sneaking up on him?

_Creepy._

He involuntarily takes a step back and almost shouts out the command.

"Jarvis, talk to me."

The AI is silent, either not able to reach him, or...

He doesn’t want to think about it, the possibility of Jarvis being compromised – his own tech turning on him, and so far, there's no reason to think it has. The armor is acting strange, yes, but it doesn’t seem to be controlled from an outside source, or interested in destroying anything. _Not yet_.

He eyes the suit and moves a hand carefully to the holoscreen by his left to access the damage control program with the tap of a finger

A crackling sound from the ceiling stops him and he looks up, feeling instant relief move through his body when he hears the soothing, albeit fragmented, voice of his AI.

"-Ir?"

_Thank fucking God._

He smiles and almost laughs at himself for panicking. Jarvis is online. They can fix it together. It'll be fine.

"Jarv, any idea of what's going on here?"

A bit more silence, then a long screeching metallic sound before Jarvis's voice breaks through again.

"-ir. I -eem to be-" The screeching returns, cutting off the AI and sending Tony right back into 'slightly panicking' mode. "malfuntio-."

It's a long string of buzzing and commodore 86 sounds after that, jumbled words and sentences from the soft, British voice Tony doesn't catch. And he doesn't have time to worry about it either, because the moment everything goes quiet again, the suit stops its staring and moves.

"Woah, hey! Stand back!"

He begins punching in the emergency deactivation code for all of the suits. Nothing responds. Mark IV is still online, still moving, and getting a little _too_ close for comfort.

_Fuck._

He abandons the screen and moves to stand behind his desk, as if it will somehow keep him safe if the suit decides to turn hostile.

When the unstoppable force of Mark IV reaches the edge of the desk, it stills again, staring – _waiting_ _._

"Hey buddy." He smiles at it uneasily. "You doing okay?"

He tries to keep his voice calm. _No time to be a pussy._ So far it hasn't actively done anything to make Tony think it's out to harm him. Maybe it really just _is_ the new drivers bugging up the system.

If the armor keeps silent and unmoving, if Tony can get to the back of its helmet and access it manually, he can shut it off and figure out what's wrong with Jarvis.

Yeah. He can do that.

He's the _only_ one who can do that.

A clicking sound reaches Tony from the other end of the lab when he makes to move, and he notices Dummy there, the robot's claw turning in his direction when he looks at it. 

"Stay there." He says it swiftly, keeping his eyes on the suit as Dummy makes some kind of disappointed sound and lowers the claw at his command.

"You're my backup." He deadpans as he takes a step to the side, moving away from the desk and closer to the red and golden armor.

Once he's just a few feet across it, Tony swallows before carefully stepping into its range, ready to bolt at any movement.

He dries his sweaty palms off in his shirt, forcing them to stop trembling when they reach the cold frame of the suit.

"And you," he moves a hand up, leaning on his toes to reach the back of Mark IV's helmet, "You just stay right her-"

It moves so fast he doesn't have time to react.

And as Tony's flying through the room, all air forced from his lungs after the suit's arm practically _launched_ him with a single shove, the only thing he can think of is how this is possibly the stupidest thing he's ever done, and _holy fuck_ has he done a lot of stupid things.

His unwilling trip across the lab is stopped by the edge of his working table, slamming against Tony's back where he instantly falls to his knees with an undignified yelp. One moment he's trying to push himself up, wheezing at the loss of air, a split second later he's scrabbling his hands wildly at the red fingers fisting themselves in his hair.

"Argh! Ow, ow, _ow!"_

He grits his teeth and closes his eyes against the searing pain in his scalp as he's hauled up and over the table.

"What are you-"

He shoots his eyes wide open again when he feels a cold, hard, unyielding weight between his legs.

This is _bad._ This is really fucking bad.

"Wait!"

Miraculously, the suit stills, keeping its hand there, staring at Tony again – that cold, hard face he drew up in his mind so long time ago in the cave, towering over him and pressing him down against the work table.

He's trembling, but the hand on his dick, a hand he knows can crush walls and punch holes through people, is _not_ reassuring.

He breathes in, fighting to keep his voice steady, because _he's got this._ He built it. _He can fix it_.

"Admin Stark, code two-three, four-E, five-six-five, eight-nine-two, sleep mode, **now**."

The suit doesn't care for his demanding voice, or the command. It doesn't initiate sleep mode, and it doesn't stop. Instead it squeezes, and Tony arches back with a pained gasp.

"No!"

He tries to wrench away, twist his lower body out of the grasp, but there's nothing he can do against the sheer strength of the armor. His head is forced backwards by his hair, and he winces, pushing himself back and battering at the stiff digits.

"Stop!"

The hand between his legs moves, not away, but upwards, then down, rubbing and pressing suggestively against his crotch. And _what the hell kind of a bug is this!_?

"Goddammit stop!" He pushes against its arms, pulling uselessly at the hand on his crotch. This isn't just mildly annoying anymore. "JARVIS SHUT IT DOWN! JARVIS! _STOP IT_ _!"_

When it wrenches his pants down, he begins to beg, as if the thing before him is actually giving any indication of listening or caring.

"Please, stop. Okay. _Stop!_ What do you want from me? I-"

One hand grasps his neck and cuts him off with a choked cry, the other rips his pants and underwear apart and throws the tattered remains to the ground, not budging at all when he shoves at them and tries kicking his legs while cursing at the expressionless face.

"You stupid piece of -"

The armor suddenly turns its head at something, releasing the harsh grip on Tony's privates as it looks down, and he turns his head with it.

_Dummy..._

The clawed robot is behind Mark IV, letting out a long stream of whirring sounds while moving its claw towards Tony's bent leg on the table.

They're all programmed to do that, to protect him, but it still comforts him somewhat. At least it's not all of them who've turned against him. And Dummy, though he really _is_ a dummy, has saved Tony before.

He turns his head towards the robot and motions for it to leave. Maybe, if it gets out of the door, which Tony hopes to god he hasn't set to locked, it might be able to make enough noise to alert someone. He isn't keen on having a Hulk-out in his lab, but this is starting to seriously scare him.

"Go, get Bruce.” The claw reaches for Tony again. “No Dummy you idiot, go get-"

It happens fast, he doesn't completely capture it with his eyes.

The suit's free hand crushes the outstretched metal arm, crumbling it as if was made of silver paper, and throws the entirety of Dummy's frame to the floor with a shattering sound that sends a jolt through Tony's body.

A massive knot instantly starts to form in his throat as he fixes his eyes on the destroyed remains of the claw, of what he'd come to recognize as the stupid, _so stupid_ , robot's only way of expressing itself – safe for the small clicking and whirring sounds.

Dummy is completely silent now.

He doesn't have time to mourn his most beloved smoothie maker, because the moment Dummy is down, the suit turns its focus on Tony again. 

He pushes at it, even though he knows he can't fend it off, but he's pissed off now, and _so_ _fucking scared_. Because if the suit killed Dummy just like that, stupid Dummy who doesn't pose any threat whatsoever, what's stopping it from killing _him?_

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you!? Jarvis! Answer me! _JARVIS!_ "

No response whatsoever, not from Jarvis, nor the suit.

It ignores Tony's thrashing and moves him over the table, face pressed into the cold metal surface while an equally freezing hand rests on his exposed ass.

_No._

His wrist his held fast when he tries shoving himself up, and he lets out a pained groan when he feels the bones grind in the harsh grip. It turns into a frightened whimper when the cold, hard tip of one of the suit's fingers moves down and begins prodding at his opening.

He pulls away with all his strength, shoving frantically at the hand and trying to keep it from going nearer.

 "No!"

Not only is he about to be molested by his own suit, but it may also possibly rip his inner walls to shreds with its joints and moving plates. One wrong curl or turn of its digits is all it would take for it to draw blood, and _holy fuck_ there isn't even any preparation or lube. It could rip him _apart_.

“Don't-”

He goes rigid, closing his eyes and biting his lip with a small whimper when it breaches him with a straightened out index finger. It's cold, so goddamned cold, and it doesn't hurt yet, but it still feels horrible - the knowledge that it can pierce his skin and flesh at any moment.

He can't hold back his sounds when it slips in further.

"Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, _stop!_ You gotta sto-"

The other hand clamps down on his lower face and effectively shuts his noises of protest out as the finger inside of him moves deeper. He clenches down on it with a frightened squeal, letting out harsh puffs of constricted air through his nose while his insides burn around the cold metal. He doesn't dare kick - hundred percent sure he'll be torn up if he does. 

A finger prods at his closed lips, and he's forced to open his mouth and let it in or let his teeth be chipped. He gags at the taste of oil and metal as it pushes down on his tongue, helplessly squealing around it when the digit in his ass sinks in to the jointed knuckle.

He can't do anything but push his tongue against the metal and whine when the finger inside of him reaches a spot that sends sparks of heat through his abdomen.

Mark IV keeps the pressure there as it begins pushing against Tony's entrance with another digit, unlubed and unmercifully forcing its way in besides the other. 

He definitely isn't stretched enough for this, and there are tears pricking in his eyes when he feels something warm and slick between his legs.

He can't stop himself - he panics. He begins screaming into the hand – clawing at the table and kicking his legs in an attempt at getting free, and earns a ripping pain in his opening for it.

He whimpers and sags against the table while the fingers stay lodged. They begin thrusting, and he groans and jerks away as his insides are forced to make way for the unyielding digits, cutting into his skin with every harsh jerk of the suit's wrist. He bites down on the metal in his mouth with a sniffle, closing his eyes tightly as he's held fast and stretched open.

There's a disgusting wet sound when it pulls out, and Tony heaves into the hand with a sob before he's lifted up by the scruff of his neck, one hand keeping his left wrist trapped behind his back. He can feel the blood sliding down from between his thighs - smeared across the smooth surface of the table.

It ignores him when he begins babbling, prying at its fingers again and trying to pull himself free.

"What do you want! Just tell me what you-" 

His hand is wrenched upwards, and Tony howls as he feels something pop out of place in his wrist.

The screaming just seems to annoy his assaulter and its fist slams into Tony's unprepared face, not using anything close to full force, but enough to make him see white and taste blood from his, now, swollen, nose.

The warm liquid fills his mouth, thick and coppery – in his throat, running down his face, blocking off his air for a brief second and making him cough and sputter. He's flipped on the table, slammed on his back before his right leg is hauled up by the knee and the fingers plunge straight into him again.

"Hngg!"

The back of his head hits the table and his uninjured hand flutters over the suit's arm, trying to find something, _anything_ , a weakness he already knows isn't there.

He feels raw, despite the blood acting as lubricant, and he isn't ready at all when a third digit begins pushing against his opening.

When he tries to lift himself with a garbled sound, a jointed elbow closes over his chest, pushing him down and putting unconformable pressure against the arc reactor while the digit is forced in, catching on something in his opening and tearing his flesh further before thrusting in rhythm with the others.

He screams in earnest, not caring that the blood runs into his throat and how pathetic he must look, because it _won't stop_. It ignores him, pumps the fingers in and out, blood glistening on the smooth metal while Tony cries himself hoarse for help he knows isn't going to come.

No one can hear him. He made sure of that himself. The lab is soundproof.

No one is going to come for him.

When the suit hits him again, this time in the stomach, Tony goes limp – wheezing into the air as the digits fill his torn opening. 

There is no pause. It does not get tired, it does not slow down, it does not care that he's fucking bleeding all over the place and sobbing like an idiot.

After a while, he turns silent, moving a trembling arm up to his face and muffling his weak cries into it while the suit forcefully fingers him.

"ZhhZZhhh-Ir?"

The metallic crackling from before sounds in the room again, and Tony instantly shoots his eyes open, hope surging through his body while the suit stills.

"zZZZhhHHhzz. S-- zhhhzz –-- ir?"

He lets out a strangled sob at the voice. Has Jarvis been there the entire time?

"Jarv?"

"I-" Several more screeching sounds. "something is--- ZhhhhZHhhzZzzzh--reach in the-----"

"I could really," He sucks in a pained breath before continuing, "I _really_ need your help here buddy."

"......." 

The tears sting in his eyes and his voice sounds wrong when he uses it again, but he needs to make sure the AI is still there.

"Jarvis? "

"-am----zzzzz--ere--- ir."

He lets out another sob at that

The suit is silent, still fingers deep within him and holding Tony fast against the table – looming over him like a frozen statue.

"Shut it-" His hand flutters over the robot's arm on his chest. "Shut it off!" He sounds hysteric, but there's no one but Jarvis to hear it either way.

It takes ten terrifying seconds before Jarvis's voice returns, sounding a bit clearer than before.

"Am trying sir,----- comn link—ut-- acess denied--- you must-"

The sentence is cut off, overtaken by white noise, and then, deafening silence.

"What!?" He bangs his fist on the table and shouts at the ceiling. "WHAT!?"

The suit's head wrenches up, and Tony only has a short moment of all consuming terror before the fingers move out of him again, making his insides contort around the air.

"No, please! Jarv-"

He's pretty sure he feels teeth rattling around in his mouth when the flat palm of the suit's hand whips his head backwards and forces him to the floor.

He's in the middle of spitting out blood, crawling backwards with a hand over his bleeding nose when the full weight of Mark IV steps down on his ankle.

He blacks out, the echo of his own howling ringing in his ears when he comes to it again a short second later.

Jarvis is gone. Dummy is dead. His foot feels like it's been snapped off. The suit is still there.

It's dragging him, gripping tightly at the back of his shirt as it hauls him to the small bed Tony sometimes naps in when Pepper isn't home and he feels like staying overnight in the lab.

He thrashes weakly, digging his unbroken foot into the floor before he's thrown on the mattress and repositioned, face pushed into the sheets, ass in the air when the fingers swiftly enter him again.

It doesn’t matter how much he cries and begs for Jarvis to come back. The hand on the back of his head holds him down and his shirt is ripped from his upper body with one abrupt pull, exposing him completely while the fingers twist and push inside of him.

It hurts. It hurts unlike anything he has ever experienced before, and still, even though he definitely _does not_ want this, he's managed to get an erection. His ass is a raw source of searing pain, the bones in his ruined ankle are probably pulverized, but the endless thrusting against his prostate has had its effects.

He moans and clenches down again, like the sick fuck he is - getting beaten and fucked by his suit and _loving it_. 

He's _not_ though. He gags and arches his back as it hits the spot inside of him again, sending bolts of warmth to his abdomen that mingles with the agony in the rest of his body. He's _definitely_ not.

He's turned around again, forced face to face with the expressionless faceplate of the suit as it moves the fingers backwards. It begins lowering itself then, pushing down against Tony until its plating thumbs against his nose. He tries pushing, shoving desperately at the helmet with his uninjured hand, but ends up clutching at it with a short wail instead when the suit twists its wrist and pushes in deep again. 

He chokes out a hoarse 'no' when his half-hard dick is grasped and held in a powerful palm. It's cold, so fucking cold, and he can't get away, cant escape the hand when it pinches him before moving. He shrinks into the mattress and bites his lip until it bleeds when the cold metal plating moves over him, stroking and sliding across his sensitive skin while the fingers in his ass pumps in and out in a relentless rhythm.

It's not as if he's never thought about it – getting jerked off and held by the strong hands of one of the suits, but it had been marginally different in his head, a simple fantasy he'd toyed with once in a while. Not _this._

The movements pick up in speed and his breath hitches as he listens to the disgusting sound of his insides moving around the armor's fingers, face reddening when his cock twitches and strains at a particularly deep thrust.

He can't stop trembling, but he bites his lip to keep from moaning when the tip of a digit slides down his shaft before curling around the base of it, caressing him gently in contrast to the harsh thrusting.

“Ah!”

His head bangs against the headboard and his legs are completely useless and cramped, pulled up against his body from the weight of the suit towering over his beaten body. The fingers are constantly shoving into him, pushing against that same fucking spot without pause as Tony grunts and chokes on his own tongue and blood while his ruined foot flops against the suit's side.

He can feel it, the unwanted ball of warmth building in his stomach - making his insides constrict and curl up, and he shakes his head when the shudders come, grasping on tightly to Mark IV's helmet as the fingers jerk methodically inside of him.

He comes with a muffled cry, orgasm ripping through his body and making him clench around the fingers as he empties himself across the smooth plating of the suit's middle.

A deep haze of exhaustion settles across his trembling limbs once the movements stop, and he falls back, blissfully numb to the pain in his ass and foot while the aftereffects of his release settles in his body.

The suit holds itself there, fingers buried deep inside, and Tony groans when they curl, looking pleadingly into the otherworldly eyes of his own creation.

“Jesus, fuck! Stop-”

It moves them back slowly, scraping against his walls, and he closes his eyes with a pained whine. There's a wet sound, followed by an agonizingly hot, burning sensation when they leave him, and Tony sags on the bed – every last ounce of strength gone, bleeding, pretty badly he figures, from between his legs and onto the bed and sheets.

The suit removes itself completely, stiffly moving back and up from the bed, and he blinks and stares at it – at the ruined remains of Dummy on the floor, at the blood seeping out on the mattress and sticking to his thighs.

It stands still, observing him again.

He doesn’t dare move.

The pain in his ass is enough to make tears appear again, and he swallows down the pitiful sounds he wants to make and brings his knees upwards to his chest instead.

He lies there, in what he assumes is shock, with wide, open eyes as he curls up, slowly, never taking them off the frame in front of the bed.

Its fingers are covered in deep red, his blood and filth dripping off the glistening tips and onto the floor with a sound Tony knows he is going to remember in his nightmares.

He fights to keep awake, to not let the suit out of his sight, but the exhaustion and desire to just let go and pass out is overwhelming.

_It's not like I can stop it._

His eyes burn, and he accidentally lets them slip shut for a second.

 _But..._ He forces them open again. _If the suit gets out, if it attacks someone else_...

His throat burns when he swallows.

He can't sleep now.

He _has_ to get up, he-

* * *

 

“Ow!” 

He wakes bathed in sweat on the hard floor of his basement lab besides his working chair, something sharp digging into his side and making an assortment of loud whirring noises that sends a surge of instant relief, and familiar annoyance, through his body.

“Dummy...” 

The claw inelegantly punches him in the stomach again and Tony sits up and batters it away with a short yell.

“Ow, what the heck? I'm up!”

“I assure you Sir,” Jarvis' voice sounds short from being smug. “I did everything in my power to keep Dum-E from disturbing you, but he insisted.”

A short pause.

“I suppose you want me to print out another hat?”

He blinks repeatedly before pulling himself up, patting the metal arm in front of him absently as he lingers his gaze towards his suit display.

His eyes pause when they reach the silent frame of Mark IV, offline and unmoving behind the lit glass.

A shiver runs through his body at the sight of it and he shakes his head.

“Nah."

He turns away to look down at the opening and closing claws of Dummy's extended arm instead, listening to the enthusiastic clicking sounds as it reaches for his shirt.

"Save it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Full prompt:  
> So I've read all the suit/Tony fic I can, and I generally love them. Many of them start out as Non-con, but end up with Tony enjoying it, and I would really like to see a fic where that isn't the case. I can't imagine those metal fingers being very comfortable anywhere inside your body.
> 
> So, Tony is working late in his lab when one of the suits suddenly starts moving on its own and attacks him. Maybe someone hacked Jarvis and is controlling it from somewhere, maybe Jarvis has gone evil, maybe there's no explanation. The suit holds him down, rips his clothes off and begin fingering him, not slowing down or pausing even though Tony struggles and begs for it to stop. It just keeps going, manhandling Tony and assuring that he can't get away throughout the assault.
> 
> I don't care how you end it. Someone can come save Tony, or not. Maybe it was all a horrible nightmare. You can go as dark as you'd like.
> 
> Ten million bonus if:  
> Dum-E is in the lab too and tries to help Tony(maybe the suit destroys him ;-;)  
> Tony begins screaming for Jarvis in vain to turn the suit off when he realizes he can't get away.  
> The suit isn't careful or gentle with its preparation.
> 
> \------------------------------------  
> 'It-was-all-a-nightmare' ending! Yaaaay! *Kermit flailing* Cause that makes everything horrible **okay** :P


End file.
